Things Left Unsaid
by blueirony
Summary: In a rare moment of weakness (the four fantasies she has already had today do not count), Dorcas allows herself to observe the boy who fills her every waking thought: Sirius Black.


A/N: I guess this is a prequel of sorts to my other one-shot, 'Whispers of Yesterday', but only in the sense that they both have the same characters. Don't worry if you haven't read that and don't particularly want to; it's okay, you can sleep at night – I won't come and hunt you down.

**Things Left Unsaid**

"_Sirius was lounging in his chair at his ease, tilting it back on two legs. He was very good-looking; his dark hair fell into his eyes with a sort of casual elegance neither James's nor Harry's could ever have achieved, and a girl sitting behind him was eyeing him hopefully, though he didn't seem to have noticed." – 'Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix', Chapter 28: Snape's Worst Memory, page 565 (British version) by J. K. Rowling_

Chin propped in her left hand, her right idly fiddling with her now blunt and worn quill, a dark-haired girl lets out a small sigh that breaks the incessant sound of scratching quills as rows of students frantically scribble away at the slightly yellow parchments in front of them. The fifteen-minute warning rung through the Great Hall a few minutes ago and Dorcas, having finished filling in her answers, was amused to see the panic that swept through her fellow classmates at the announcement.

But the amusement has now worn off and she has quickly become bored. Impatient from birth, she has never been able to sit still and has always found the last, tense minutes of examinations particularly trying. Discontent with continuing her doodling on a spare parchment on her desk, she tosses her quill onto her desk and slowly sweeps the room with her eyes. She tells herself that she is only doing so out of extreme boredom. She tells herself that she is not looking for anyone in particular. She tells herself that she is most definitely not staring at the dark-haired boy in front of her.

She is lying to herself.

Dorcas knows that this is the perfect opportunity to drink in the sight of the boy who makes her heart flutter. He is sat in front of her by pure chance (she is slightly ashamed to admit that she has, on occasion, timed her entrance into class perfectly so that her chosen seat is in close proximity to him). No one is watching her. And, though the thought saddens her, she knows that he is certainly not watching her. If she allowed herself, she could spend a few glorious moments staring unabashedly at him and indulge in her fantasies of him. No one would know. She would not have to endure the knowing smile of her redheaded dorm mate who, though not a close friend to Dorcas, always seems to know everything. She would not have to worry about the entire school finding out about her embarrassingly large crush on the one boy she knew would never look twice in her direction.

But she does not allow herself. Sirius Black is easily and obviously the object of many girls' affections. She is not the only one who sneaks glances at him during classes, down the corridor and across the table at meals. She is not the only one who sighs at the sight of his smile or when he casually tosses his fringe back when it falls into his haunting eyes. And, as she reminds herself every night as she settles in for an inevitable night of dreams of him, she is not the only one whose name Sirius does not know.

He could easily have his pick of any girl in the school. And, though it breaks her heart, she has long since accepted that she will never be one of them. How could she be? Every time she glances into one of the many hundreds of mirrors at Hogwarts, all she can do is stare forlornly at the small girl staring back at her. Her shoulders are much too narrow, her nose slightly upturned. No amount of makeup will ever hide the smattering of freckles across her nose, and she can hardly walk five steps without tripping over something (usually herself or, more embarrassingly, air). Her hair is not as shiny as other girls', she struggles to reach the top shelf of the library and even the most stylish clothing could never hide her painfully obvious lack of any shape to her body. The girls that catch Sirius's eye are popular, have had experience with boys and are full of life. These are the girls that turn everyone's heads as they enter a room. Dorcas, on the other hand, is quiet and shy. Never one to be the centre of attention, she prefers to spend time with a few good friends rather than a large group of people. And as for experience, she is all too painfully aware that it is likely she will reach her sixteenth birthday without ever holding a boy's hand, much less receiving her first kiss.

And, though she has been miserable since she first admitted her feelings to herself, she refuses to throw herself at him. Yes, she may spend more time staring at him with longing than finishing essays every night in the common room. Yes, she may stare daggers at the long-legged beauty (a girl whose curvaceous figure and shiny, golden hair has not gone unnoticed to Dorcas) that he currently walks the halls with, wishing it was her own hand enclosed in his larger one. Yes, she may have had a fantasy or two (or twenty) of him holding her close and kissing the top of her head. But she has made a promise to herself that she will not be another girl who embarrasses herself in front of him, vying for his affections. She feels that, despite how much more attention she subconsciously pays to her appearance (she has accepted that it is a lost cause and no amount of stern talking to herself will stop her from spending half an hour more getting ready than she really needs to), she is not going to compromise her dignity for him. She owes herself that much.

Resisting the urge to lift her gaze to the seat in front of her, she sighs once more before sweeping her long hair in front and over her left shoulder and carefully scrutinises the dark strands. Though she only trimmed her hair a few weeks ago, the recent warm weather has depleted her hair of most of its moisture. Frowning as she spots a split-end, she separates the offending strand from the rest of her hair and lets her hair fall against her shoulder with a small thump. Ignoring the horrified voice in her head (which sounds suspiciously like her mother), she clasps the strand between her thin fingers and is about to pull the split apart when a loud voice booms through the Great Hall, giving the five minute warning.

She looks up from her inspection of her hair and freezes as her eyes fall on the boy who has haunted her dreams for the past few months. Had she been paying attention to her surroundings, Dorcas would have smirked at the girl seated to her left whose hand had now become a blur. She would have also been amused once more at the panic that has escalated throughout the room. But she is not aware of her surroundings.

All she can focus on is remembering to breathe.

At this point, she knows she should look away. She knows that no amount of staring will ever fully satisfy her longing. And she is all too aware that she most likely has a lovesick expression on her face (one that she has found does not compliment her complexion at all). But she cannot look away. It seems as though her eyes are frozen, fixated on his back. In any other situation, if Dorcas were to see another girl staring so helplessly at a boy's _back_ of all things, she would have laughed. But Dorcas's eyes rove over his back like it is a piece of candy, waiting to be eaten (she has decided that her eyes are complete traitors), well aware that she is acting exactly like those girls she has sworn to never become. As she watches, Sirius flexes his arms slightly and rolls his shoulders, as if to release the tension in them. The simple act renders Dorcas into a quivering wreck. It is all she can do to not let out a moan as his muscles ripple through the white of his school shirt (how a shapeless garment such as a school shirt can show off his muscles is a matter that she will debate later). He has rolled the sleeves up, and Dorcas cannot help but swoon a little as she gets a glimpse of his forearms. Not content with unknowingly torturing Dorcas, Sirius lazily leans back in his chair and lets it rest on its back two legs. As he does so, a wave of his scent washes over Dorcas and she cannot help but briefly close her eyes at it. Musky, spicy and slightly sweet, it smells better than the smell of freshly baked bread that fills her grandmother's house on Sunday mornings.

Against her wishes, she finds herself slipping into a daydream as she wonders what it would feel like to have his arms wrap around her. Is he every bit as strong as he looks? Would he hold her with tenderness or with passion? Would he slowly lean his head back to stare at her before leaning in to gently brush his lips against hers? Would she feel his hands lightly tracing circles on her back, on her shoulders, on her face? Though never one to place much weight in the gossip that grips Hogwarts from day to day, she has been witness to many gushing girls recounting their experiences with him. They all describe him in different ways, but Dorcas has surmised that there is at least one comment element to all the stories – Sirius Black is everything a girl can wish for, and more. And a large part of her longs to find out just how much of the other rumours are true.

Aware that she is staring hopefully, desperately at the boy in front of him, but unwilling to tear her easy away, she is oblivious to a squeaky voice that announces the end of the examination. It is the sudden clatter of quills which startles out of her daydreams of long walks around the lake with Sirius, holding his hand (she blames excessive studying for her mind to think up such a disgustingly clichéd situation). She shakes her head briefly and blinks a few times, shaking herself back to reality, before her parchment rolls itself up and joins hundreds of others as it zooms to the front of the Great Hall.

Thankful that the examination has finished (and heartbroken that she can no longer stare at the object of her dreams), she turns to her desk and gathers her things together. As she is screwing the lid of her ink bottle closed, she catches sight of the loose parchment on her desk and freezes. A small burst of laughter fills her ears but she does not look to find the source. All she can do is stare in horror at the doodling that covers the parchment.

_Mrs Sirius Black_

_Dorcas Black_

_Dorcas + Sirius_

Utterly mortified that she could act like a thirteen-year-old girl with her first crush and even more appalled that it completely slipped her notice, she cannot bring herself to read the rest of the list that covers the entire parchment (and that does not include the few thousand love hearts that she has interspersed with the words). Embarrassed beyond belief, she quickly glances left and right to make sure no one has noticed before crumpling the parchment in her fist. She swings her bag on her shoulder, tucks her hair behind her ear and ignores the chatter that has picked up. All she focuses on is getting out of the room that has suddenly become much too hot inside.

"Dorcas? Dorcas!"

Ignoring the sound of her best friend, she quickens her pace and concentrates on the double doors that lead out into the Entrance Hall.

"Hey, wait just a... would you _move_? Dorcas!"

Continuing on her beeline towards the doors, Dorcas finally turns into the Entrance Hall and breathes a sigh of relief. All she can think about is running to the common room and throwing the scrunched parchment she holds tightly in her fist into the fire (she has already decided to ignore any first years who complain about the fire in such warm weather).

Turning right and heading for the staircase, she suddenly slows her mad pace and stumbles to a stop. Directly in her line of sight is a group of four laughing boys, heading out to enjoy the sunshine. Her arms drops to her side, her bag falls to the ground, but Dorcas does not notice. She watches the group and her heart is filled with a familiar longing as she once more takes in the fine form of Sirius Black. Her brain tells her feet to move, but she stays rooted to the spot, gazing at him for the second time that day. What she would not give to be beside him, laughing with him, enjoying his presence and just _being_ with him. Her eyes slowly move from the group to the parchment in her hand and back to the group once more.

"You know, if you weren't my best friend, I would think you were running away from me."

This time, Dorcas cannot ignore the Irish drawl of her best friend and turns to take in the grinning face of one Amy Stebbins.

"What an exam, eh? If you hadn't forced me to study all those bleeding nights, I don't think I would have passed. Barely finished, as it is. Did you hear old Flitwick? He had to get me to stop writing. I swear, sometimes I feel like..."

Dorcas listens with one ear to Amy's long ramble. She has long since developed a system of dealing with the long spiels that Amy treats her to almost daily. She normally says the right things in the right places, but this time she stays silent as her eyes remain fixed on the retreating backs of the four boys.

"...Dorcas? Dorcas?"

She turns and is greeted by the questioning look of her best friend. Dorcas feels as though this is not the first time Amy has called her name. She thinks quickly of a universal answer that will keep her out of trouble.

"Um... yes?" she says, timidly. Amy looks at her for a second before rolling her eyes.

"Are you listening to me at all?" asks Amy. "I asked you if you thought it was... you know what, never mind. What do you think of... Dorcas? Merlin, you are off with the pixies today." Amy's eyes follow Dorcas's (which have, once again, been drawn to the direction that Sirius walked in, as if he were a magnet) and she frowns as she looks out into the empty grounds of Hogwarts.

"What, in the name of Merlin, are you looking at? And what is that in your hand?" Amy asks, gesturing to Dorcas's fist.

Dorcas sighs and looks at the parchment once before shaking her head slightly.

"Nothing. It's... it's nothing. What were you asking?"

And, as she picks up her bag and listens to the brunette walking beside her, she cannot help but reflect on how true her words were. As much as it pains her to think and say, she knows it is true. It _is_ nothing. She may think of him during the day and dream of him during the night, but she is not about to fool herself into thinking something will happen between them. He is Sirius Black. She is Dorcas Meadowes. He is the popular boy who everyone adores. She is the quiet girl who fades into the background. The two will never be in the same equation. And, though her heart aches for him, she has learnt to deal with the pain that comes with looking into his smiling face every day, knowing he will never be hers.

As the two make their way through the corridors of Hogwarts, she is drawn to the parchment still clenched in her fist. Slowly uncurling her fist, she catches a few words on the edge of it and cannot help the small smile that plays on her lips. Maybe she won't throw it into the fire and watch it burn to ash. Maybe she will keep it in her bedside drawer. Maybe she isn't ready to let go of it just yet.

It is, after all, nice to dream.

FIN


End file.
